LISTENER, HEAL THYSELF
The Cambiata's new EP is a cure for many ills

By SAM PFEIFLE
January 31, 2008 10:19:48 AM

When one of the most buzz-inducing tracks making the rounds of the indie-nerd set is called "Oxford Comma," it's possible things are getting a touch too literary for your average music consumer. But if NYC-based Vampire Weekend are maybe too targeted toward the beard-and-sweater crowd, our own local hyper-intellectual troupe manage to appeal to everyone from your hardcore punks to readers of the (don't) Go section.
The Cambiata are a band just about every true music lover should freak over, be they classically inclined or math rockers or old school be-boppers. The band project so much intensity, as though every note was an agonizing decision and yet was the only one that could have ever existed in that moment, you can't help but be caught up in their crashing wave, pounded onto the sand, and then ripped back out to a sea of great ideas.

To Heal, a five-song EP that serves as a follow-up to 2006's alternately thrilling and frustrating full-length Into the Night (which also won the 2007 Best New Album award from Portland Phoenix readers) is 27 minutes of vindication, proof that all of their promise is just a taste of what's to come. From the Clockwork Orange chaos of the opening "All in All (Julie)" to the far-from-alien nine-minute epic "Roswell" that closes the disc, the Cambiata are dragged along by the indubitable force that is lead singer Chris Moulton, who continues to find ways to harness his incredible pipes, forgoing some of his screamo roots for more textured and mature tones that can seem to be all things to all listeners.

If there is any fault here, it is that the Cambiata can fall too often into the familiar indie trope of a quiet beginning, with just vocals and organ, maybe, that eventually builds into a larger rock song and, here, even a taste of grunge or thrash. But with Moulton, that opening is just so enthralling. On "Purple," you might be reminded of the Modern Lovers' "Hospital" (one of my favorite all-time tunes), but Moulton gasps his opening vocals like the life is rushing out of him from a gut wound: "All that we see/Thirsts all that I love/Shell glow, glow-oow/Re-mem-ber my name/When all this tide is cursive."

What does that mean? God, nothing and everything. If you're looking for a discussion of post-structural or deconstructionist theory, this is your band. And yet, it can sometimes seem so simple, unrequited love songs like so many that have come before. Who can't relate to "all of this fool's gold/Twirling up into your curls," with horns calling to mind a horrible carnival of mistaken advances?

Frequently, the mood is set through guest horns from Halo engineer Micah Davis (Jon Wyman's protégé), Adam Jackson, and Gaelen Bayley, if not from the viola and cello of Kallie Ciechomski and Emily Dix-Thomas, respectively. "Sidestepping Versus Splitting Heirs" couldn't quite attain its Violent Femmes swagger, its Weezer ironic pop, without the late strings underscoring the mocking "blah, blah, blah"s. "They all wish they sang opera like you do in the shower," Moulton offers, without necessarily indicating who "they" are.

And "Cut Your Losses, Kiddo" gains its childlike base from drummer Dan Capaldi's work on the bells, paired initially with Sean Morin's organ, before Moulton confesses, "I want to find another love, out there/I want to find another love." That this band, so grounded in roots of heavy music, aggressive as the fires of teen angst could stoke, could create a tune as soulful and lilting as this is truly a wonder, something that could easily have you belting your guts out in the dark of whatever room houses your stereo (please tell me you still have a stereo, with components and stuff?).

By the time you've lived through the swirling repetitions of "push all the livid out" that close that anthemic "Roswell," you may find yourself completely drained, with not an ounce of livid left in you. You may wonder when livid became a commodity. You may not.